.024

The date, I can't remember specifically. It was a year or so ago: I was seated at the wooden tables beside the schoolside Vons' Starbucks, waiting for the time to crawl by faster for reason I can't remember. It was then that a dark, elderly, asian man shuffled by in house slippers to the gift card section beside me that then used to be there, but now is not.

He wore no glasses, I discovered after a few moments' worth of curious peering. The hand that gripped the cane holding the rest of his body upright shook slightly each time he leaned forward to reach for a gift card that never quite seemed to be the right one. His feet never rose more than a quarter of a centimeter from the ground each time he walked, and his thin hair stuck out from beneath a neon-pink hat that probably must have been worth something to him at the time and place where he had attained it.

I watched him for a few minutes, my interest in this seemingly uninteresting person growing as the number of cards that were picked up only to be set back down rose. Realizing at last that the one he wanted was not among those displayed, he shifted the whole of his body 90 degrees to the right, chin and arm raised slightly up so as to signal an employee for assistance.

His mouth opened without word, but rather, a barely audible squeak-grunt, so the first worker to pass him walked by without noticing that his attention was required on something elsewhere than the cardboard box he carried by the arm.

The second worker noticed him, but instead of stopping, mouthed a word that began with the letter "o," and extended his forefinger into the air to indicate a silent "one second, I'll be right with you". He never came back after that second. Or minute. Few minutes.

The third worker, this time, stopped, and asked him if he needed help. The old man replied in a voice that reminded me of fountain pens scratching ink on textured paper, "Membership cards?"

The man had come to Vons seeking out a Vons card, and instead, mistakenly went to the gift cards.
The worker chuckled, said that he would go get someone that could help him, and left.
I checked my cell phone clock every minute for ten minutes; the help that was promised never arrived.

My heart filled with sadness for the old man.

And so the small asian man, I remember, put one hand atop the other on his cane and hunched over with his head tilted to the left, waiting for someone to stop by and assist him. I watched him for a good while, pity aching my insides, when at last the time had come for me to stand and leave. I did, but not before casting a final glance by the door at the man whose head was still tilted to the left, waiting for help that I still don't know today had come or not come.

When I got home that evening, I called my boyfriend (then, my ex-boyfriend now). I felt this need to tell him about the odd old man I had come across earlier that day, so I did. I told him, "that man needed help, but no one came to give it to him."

and I remember the words Tim told me that, to this day, continue to bother me greatly:

"So, why didn't you?"



I saw a funny tree this evening.
Its thin trunk was curved, as if the weight of the leaves and branches at its head forced it to grow bending downwards.
The shape of the tree reminded me of the man and his old, curved back.